


Something's Changed

by hpdm4ever, MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)



Series: Sekhmet [7]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Argentina National Team, FC Barcelona, First Kiss, Future Fic, Future Gladiators AU, Gods, M/M, Real Madrid CF, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10040432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/hpdm4ever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/MessiFangirl
Summary: Normally Cris likes fighting against Ramos. They use the same weapon which adds a layer of difficulty to what otherwise could be a very quick fight. And Ramos is close enough to Cris’ level that sometimes it takes longer than normal to defeat him. He’s also friendly, abnormally chatty and full of gossip, which allows Cris to hear what’s going on with those around them.Not that Cris *really* cares, but it's still good to be aware of things.Except today, Ramos seems keen to talk about Cris.“Something’s changed,” Ramos insists, ducking when Cris darts toward him. He somersaults under Cris’ arm and comes up in a defensive position. “You’re usually a dick, but now you’re even more of one. And you’re going to burn out. End up dead in the arena because you’re exhausted.”Cris flinches at that, stepping backward as if Ramos has struck him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yulin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulin/gifts), [LeoDios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoDios/gifts).



> For Yulin, who as always, is so gracious to let me play in her universe. And for LeoDios, who wanted a glimpse of Sergio Ramos :)

Cris spends extra training time in the arena that month.

He tells himself it’s because he needs to take it up a notch, needs to continue to better himself so that he can keep winning. That’s always been his mindset anyway, so he doesn’t find it hard to continue doing it. And so he stays later and later, each day, doing exercise after exercise, playing training holo after training holo, until his arms are so tired from swinging his sword that he’s forced to turn in.

He’s working out more than doing anything else at this point. And his reputation is taking a bit of a hit, going from standoffish to downright intolerable, as he’s having a little less free time to talk to his fellow fighters. Most of them already ignore him, though there are a few that occasionally spar or exchange a friendly word. That number is dwindling, though, especially when Cris brushes them off whenever they try to tell him to take it easy. He should appreciate their concern, even if it is misplaced.

Ramos is the latest to try, the Spaniard twirling his own energy-sword around when they meet the day before Cris is next scheduled in the main arena. “Tell me, Cris,” Ramos coaxes, shifting his weight and dancing in place, waiting for Cris to lunge in. His boots skid in the dirt and he pretends he meant for that to happen, recovering quickly. “You might fool the others, but not me.”

Normally Cris likes fighting against Ramos. They use the same weapon which adds a layer of difficulty to what otherwise could be a very quick fight. And Ramos is close enough to Cris’ level that sometimes it takes longer than normal to defeat him. He’s also friendly, abnormally chatty and full of gossip, which allows Cris to hear what’s going on with those around them.

Not that Cris *really* cares, but it's still good to be aware of things.

Except today, Ramos seems keen to talk about Cris.

“Something’s changed,” Ramos insists, ducking when Cris darts toward him. He somersaults under Cris’ arm and comes up in a defensive position. “You’re usually a dick, but now you’re even more of one. And you’re going to burn out. End up dead in the arena because you’re exhausted.”

Cris flinches at that, stepping backward as if Ramos has struck him.

The other man pauses and lowers his sword. “What the hell?” Ramos asks. “I didn’t nick you, did I?” He looks down at his energy-sword and then over at Cris’ arm. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I missed you. I fool almost everybody with that, but I never get you with that move.” His grin dims and he starts to look a little concerned. “What’s the matter?”

Cris lowers his own sword. “Nothing, nothing. And of course you didn’t get me,” he says scornfully. “As if *you* could hit me.” It’s not exactly true, Ramos has hit him often enough or else he wouldn’t be a worthy opponent, but Cris is feeling spiky. He ignores the way Ramos frowns and protests. “I,” Cris continues, looking down at his feet and scuffing them against the dirt, “just was caught off guard by something you said.”

The truth is, it wasn’t just *something* Ramos had said.

It was one word: *burn*.

Even now it makes him flinch to think about it, to think about what could happen to Leo if his people discovered what they had done. He still can’t wrap his mind around it, can’t understand why they would do such a thing. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to accept that Leo’s people would “purify” him with fire…

He blinks, desperately trying to think of anything other than Leo screaming in pain.

But Ramos is still staring at him questioningly, and Cris tries to recover. “Never mind,” he says, pretending everything is fine. He straightens up and smirks. “Where were we? I was kicking your ass, I believe?” He feints and then thrusts towards Ramos, who parries frantically. “That’s right,” he spits out, swinging again and again, feeling the jolt of energy sizzle up his arm as their swords clash.

Ramos backtracks, grinning as he ducks and somersaults again. “If this is what you think kicking someone’s ass is like, I’ve got some bad news for you.” He crouches slightly, panting. “Of course, other than me, how often do you actually get to fight anyone on your level?” He parries another one of Cris’ thrusts. “Don’t you get tired of them just giving you easy opponents?”

Cris rolls his eyes. “They don’t give me ‘easy opponents,’” he says, finally deciding that he’s had enough for the night—especially since his next fight is tomorrow. Either that or he’s tired of Ramos’ probing questions. He sticks his energy-sword back into his belt and rests a hand on the hilt. “It just looks that way because I’m the best.”

Ramos laughs, holstering his own weapon. “The best?” he teases, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He combs it back until he’s satisfied, ignoring one or two stray strands. And then at Cris’ expectant look, he points to one of the screens hanging high up on the wall behind them. “Some people might disagree.”

Cris turns to watch, zeroing in on the middle screen showing the main arena. He hadn’t quite forgotten that Leo was fighting today, but if he had, the bright flashes from the energy-whips whirling around would have clued him in. The scheduled fights were all listed quite publicly for anyone to look up, and Cris usually paid attention to the big names. Still, Cris hadn’t felt the need to watch Leo’s fight. He’d guessed that Leo would probably win, and would probably win quickly, no matter his opponent. And so why would Cris feel the need to watch? To torture himself?

He still didn’t understand his feelings for Leo.

He only knew that he didn’t like the way they’d ended things.

He didn’t like that Leo had been angry.

He didn't like it one bit.

And more than that, he didn't like that he was unable to stop thinking about it.

“Would you look at that,” Ramos mutters, distracting Cris from his thoughts. “It’s like they keep choosing ones to challenge him. Maybe they want him to give up on the whips altogether. Kinda surprising, isn’t it?”

Cris focuses on the screen, noting that Leo’s opponent has two sharp-looking scythes for arms. He can see what Ramos is saying. The creature looks like a difficult thing to defeat with just energy-whips, and the organizers probably chose it specifically so Leo would have trouble defending himself. But then again, Cris shrugs, not reading too much into it and figuring they just wanted to challenge Leo.

And Leo is skilled enough to deal with whatever they throw at him.

“It’s still got weaknesses,” Cris says, even as the creature darts in towards Leo quicker than the camera can catch. “Even if he doesn’t fight with a blade, he can still take this one. For example, he hits those wings and it’ll be crippled, no problem.” He watches Leo sway, somehow anticipating the attack and ducking out of the way, energy-whips lashing out as if hearing Cris’ words.

The whips miss the creature, flashing by one of the wings, but they sizzle ominously.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so large,” Ramos says, looking at Leo’s opponent as the fight continues. “In fact, I didn’t even know they could actually fly. I thought the wings were just ornamental.” He’s moving his head back and forth, trying to track the movement that the camera can’t quite pick up. “Incredibly fast, this one.”

Cris shrugs, never having had to fight one of these himself. “I think only the biggest can fly. Supposedly they are fast enough on their feet that they don’t need wings.” There’s a piercing screech then as Leo’s whips catch one of the feet in question, curling around a thick green ankle and yanking the creature off balance. “Of course,” he says, as Leo’s other energy-whip viciously slices through a wing, “sometimes ‘fast enough’ isn’t good enough, eh?”

Ramos laughs, watching while Leo stands triumphantly and then goes through his post-battle ritual to honor Argentina while the crowd cheers. “Not against *him*,” he says. Then he raises his eyebrows and murmurs appreciatively. “Nice.”

Cris, who had turned away from the screen as soon as he was sure Leo had won, turns back. “What?” he asks, seeing that the camera is now entirely focused on Leo as he bends over to wipe his gloved hands in the dirt. Cris tears his eyes away from the way the fabric stretches over Leo’s ass and looks over at Ramos. “What’s nice?”

Ramos grins. He points to the screen. “Don’t tell me you can’t see that,” he says, his other hand coming up and pretending to squeeze something. “Glad they kept the cameras on him,” he says, groaning. “I wouldn’t mind if they kept following him, if you catch my meaning.”

Cris nearly bites his tongue in half.

“I saw him strip down once. It was just a quick glance,” Ramos rambles on, rubbing his chin, oblivious to Cris’ distress. “He’s a tiny thing, but his ass is huge.” He laughs. “Man, can you imagine? I’d love to get him on his hands and knees one day. Think he’d go for it? Nobody ever turns down a chance to get fucked by me, you know?”

Cris feels a buzzing start in his ears, and he has to remind himself to keep breathing.

“They would if they were smart,” Cris says, trying to deflect. He walks over to where he’d left his shirt, pulling in on quickly. It sticks to his sweaty skin, but he’s too flustered to care. “And, I turned you down. If you recall,” he throws over his shoulder, yanking harder on his shirt until it’s reached his waistband. He shouldn’t be so worked up over Ramos’ comments.

But he is.

Ramos laughs, still staring at the screen. “I didn’t mean it, with you,” he protests. “With him, though… Mmm, I’d love a piece of that ass.” He finally walks over to his own things, chugging a little of the water he brought with him. “And he's tatted all over, too. Right? I saw some,” he continues, still in the mood to chat. “That would be fun to explore. Wonder if he’s got any on his ass,” he says, laughing again.

“He doesn’t,” Cris spits out before he can help himself.

Ramos swallows, turning his head curiously. “What?”

Cris shakes his head. “I said, ‘He probably doesn’t.’” He fakes a smile, not sure how convincing it looks, but trying anyway. “That would be a bit ridiculous, wouldn’t it.” He shoulders his bag and then ducks his head. “I’m going to turn in. I’d say, wish me good luck, but,” he says, shrugging, “I won’t need it.”

Ramos’ laughter follows him on the way out.

Cris pretends not to hear it.

He walks back towards the billet. The crowds are thinning out now, with Leo’s fight finished in the main arena, and the spectators and gladiators all returning to their living quarters. A few people spot him and point, excited at seeing him out in public as opposed to in the arena. But Cris can barely acknowledge them, focused on putting one foot in front of the other and trekking back so he can sleep.

He’s tired, but it’s not a good tired.

It’s that kind of fatigue where his body is aching, but his mind is still going. And he’s ruffled. No matter how much he pretends he isn’t, he can’t seem to regain control. Because Ramos’ words did get to him. Cris’ thoughts keep circling around Leo—about what will happen if they’re discovered… But also, the idea that there are others who *want* Leo.

Cris might have kept himself from punching Ramos, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to.

Because he did. He wanted to knock that grin off of Ramos’ face. He wanted to send the gladiator sprawling to the ground for even daring to talk about Leo’s body like that.

He was jealous.

He was jealous and angry and confused.

And it was not something he liked feeling.

For whatever reason, he decides to take the long way back. He should be going straight to his quarters, or the showers, and his weary muscles remind him of that with every step. But still, he plods on, taking different hallways and paths than he normally would, ducking through doorways quickly and quietly when he sees people coming. It's only when he finally catches one of the names written above a corridor that he realizes where he's headed.

The Argentines don't live anywhere close to him, but that's where his feet have taken him.

He still hugs the shadows and keeps his head down—avoids any large groups of people, no matter who they are. And he does recognize many of the fighters. But he's only looking to talk to one. Because he's had it with feeling this way—he's had it with feeling so unbalanced.

And he's going to settle this once and for all.

That's what he intends, at least.

When he comes face to face with Leo in the hallway, Cris finds that his prepared speech is stuck in his throat. Instead, he merely stares down at Leo, hand resting on the hilt of his sword more out of habit than anything else.

Leo looks tired. He's still dressed in his black uniform, the tight material clinging to his body from head to toe while black gloves cover his hands. Cris is unaccustomed to the bright, tattooed arm being hidden, but as it is, the only color Leo wears is a blue stripe across his chest for Argentina. It's very different from Cris' own pure red uniform, but then again, it makes sense that Leo would choose something nondescript. Even Leo's tall, protective boots are black, though they look dirty from traipsing through the dirt.

Leo makes no move to touch his energy-whips, but Cris can see they're coiled at his waist—easily accessible in case Leo needs them.

Cris opens his mouth to say something, to yell, to scream, to tell Leo that this can't go on. But then Leo's eyes flick downwards and Cris follows his gaze. He can't see anything at first, except then he hears the quietest splat on the floor. Leo's eyes dart back up to Cris' face, but it's too late.

Cris can already see the drops of blood staining the ground.

He closes his mouth, looking back at Leo's arm, this time seeing the slice through the black material on his forearm. "I didn't realize it had gotten you," he says, forgetting all about yelling at Leo. "Is it bad?" he asks, thinking back to the creature with scythes for arms.

Leo shakes his head. "Just a scratch," he says. Then his lips turn up slightly. "You know how it is, this uniform doesn’t provide as much protection as the team one. But, I rather think the audience likes to see a little blood now and again, anyway, even if the battle isn't to the death." His cheeks are turning pink as he finishes, perhaps because of the way Cris continues to stare at him. As the silence grows, Leo starts to shift his weight. "Why are you here?" he asks finally, looking down so he doesn't have to look at Cris.

Cris notes the way that Leo is slumping in exhaustion.

"It can wait," Cris murmurs, suddenly deciding that it's not important anymore. Instead, he reaches out and gently touches his fingers to Leo's chin.

Leo tilts his head up, cheeks still pink, and dark hair falling messily across his forehead. "Why are you here?" he asks again, not pulling away from Cris' touch. "What do you want?" His eyes search Cris' for answers, his blush increasing when there's still no answer. "Cris?"

Cris shakes his head. "I just," he says to himself, unable to look away as Leo's lips part in confusion. "It can wait," he says.

And then, slowly, he leans down and kisses Leo.

It's soft, sweet and soft, and Cris knows he's lost. Especially when Leo leans into him, gloved fingers reaching up to curl around Cris' neck, their bodies pressing together like they were never apart. Cris forgets everything, forgets where he is and who they are, focuses only on cradling Leo against him.

And then it's over too quickly, Leo pulling back. His lips are slightly swollen, pink and plump from Cris' kiss, and his eyes are bright. He takes a step back, leaning against the wall of the corridor, eyes flicking up and down the hallway as if he's suddenly realizing where they are. "I," Leo says, reaching up to touch his mouth, unable to hide his smile.

Cris laughs. "You," he says, slightly mockingly, unable to help himself. He thinks about pushing Leo back against the wall, kissing him again, taking more of what he wants... But then there's noise coming from down the hallway and he takes a step back too. "Take care of that arm," he says, grinning, suddenly feeling lighter than he has in ages.

"I will," Leo says, fingers still touching his lips like he's reliving the kiss.

Cris winks, and then, as a crowd sweeps around the corner, he's gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Look for more in this universe coming soon :)
> 
>  
> 
> [~Also I'm on tumblr](http://messifangirl.tumblr.com/)


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